


The Spoons Are Historical

by yuletide_archivist



Category: National Treasure Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben and Abigail are determined to have a relaxing vacation. Riley runs in and out, tempting them with spoons and adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spoons Are Historical

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Alice

 

 

Ben and Abigail are both very dedicated to their jobs, and between those and on-the-side treasure hunting that seems to fall into their laps on a regular basis, time to themselves is anywhere from `moderately limited' to `not eating dinner together for three weeks.' Very aware of what happened the last time their lives tilted in this direction - namely, frayed tempers, arguing over end tables and Ben getting kicked out of the house - Ben suggests they take a little holiday from life. 

"I don't know," Abigail says. "That sounds really nice, Ben, but I've just started a new project at work, and it's going to eat up all my spare-"

She pauses. Ben raises an eyebrow. 

"I see your point," she concedes. "Where do you want to go?"

They decide to not go anywhere and avoid the stress of travel. Next time they do this, Ben is thinking Europe. 

The first day of their vacation is one of those autumn days where the trees are breathtaking but the weather isn't too cold, and light breezes periodically rustle the leaves at their feet and over their heads. Ben watches fragmented shadows dance in Abigail's hair, thinks about the Anaconda blockade in 1861, and feels really quite happy. Just he and Abigail, alone and relaxed. 

When they return to the mansion, all the lights are on and Riley is sitting at their nook table eating pancakes.

"Oh, hey," he says around a mouthful of pancake and syrup. 

Abigail points at his plate. "Did you...make those here? In our kitchen?"

"Riley, what are you doing here?" Ben demands. "We're on a holiday. You need to go."

"Don't you want to know how I got in?" 

"Not really."

Riley's expression is fleetingly hurt, quickly replaced by something mischievous. "Don't you what to know what I'm here for?"

"Not really."

He tells them anyway.

"Wait, wait, wait," Abigail says when he's done, looking and sounding both incredulous and resigned. "You crashed our vacation to get us to solve a code and embark on a potentially high-stakes, dangerous adventure that may or may not end in _death_?"

Riley looks vaguely sheepish. "Yes?"

There are a few moments in which Ben and Abigail engage in a somewhat heated conversation that is relayed only through facial expressions and body language, and Riley thoughtfully pretends to ignore the whole thing by concentrating on his orange juice.

"We'll ... help you with the code," Ben says finally, then hastens to add, "But that's it!"

"We're taking a break from the world," Abigail sighs. She pours Riley another glass and starts the coffee-maker. "That includes history adventures."

Riley makes a sceptical face, but shrugs. "Sure. Thanks, guys. Uh, all the papers you need are on the kitchen table -"

They spend three hours working out a way to solve the complicated code that Riley insists he came by honestly, and if Ben gets more excited than he has been all week, and if Abigail engages in a brief victory dance whenever they crack a more difficult portion, well, they're all too engrossed in the puzzle to mention it.

They send Riley on his way with the last of portion of the code (a-d-a-m-s), a plate of brownies - stared at mournfully until Ben wrapped them up and handed them over - and a promise not to bother them for the next two weeks.

"Unless it's a matter of life or death!" Ben calls out the door after him, because he'd hate for something to happen to Riley just because he doesn't want to interrupt their _holidays_.

"That was fun," Abigail says, cheeks pleasantly flushed. She has ink on her fingers and her hair is whisping out of her careful bun. Ben doesn't think he's seen anything so enticing in his life. "I've never seen a permutation like that used in conjunction with - mmph!"

There are a quite a number of busy minutes, broken only by "mind the Queen Anne, it's a priceless example of -" and "watch the stairs!" and culminates in both of them enthusiastically declaring affirmatives.

The phone rings six days later at three in the afternoon, just as Ben and Abigail are about to start in on a delicious-looking pie. Ben answers it on the eighth ring, and is met by raspy, echoing breathing. 

"Uh, hello?" he says. 

"Ben!" a familiar voice hisses. 

"Riley?"Ben says, not entirely surprised. At the table, Abigail glances up from her pie a la mode, looking slightly exasperated.

"Ben, I'm so glad I got a hold of you- listen, I need you to do some quickie research for me. Are you familiar with the Parker Museum downtown?"

Ben isn't, in any definitive sense of the word, vaguely remembering a red slanted roofs and a downright shoddy civil war display. "Sure," he says. A muffled car horn sounds in the background. "Riley, where are you?"

"Nowhere, nowhere, never mind." Ben imagines Riley waving a dismissive hand at him. "What do you know about the engraving of silver spoons?"

Ben tells Riley everything he knows, which in the grand scheme of things is not very much, and then turns to the library. Abigail joins them with the powerhouse that is internet research and together they track down the particular family crest engraved on a particular antique spoon collection currently residing in the Parker Museum downtown. 

"What does the lettering look like?" Abigail asks. 

"Kind of curvy. Lots of lines."

Abigail frowns. "What are the choices?" Ben asks her. 

"Got it narrowed down to Gothic or Roman Block." 

"What's the difference?" Riley asks.

"About 75 years. I'm leaning towards Gothic, which means...here it is." She shifts the computer so Ben can see. 

"Oh, those spoons!" Ben says. He grabs one of the books already open on their library floor and flips to page 128. A glossy photo displays three silver spoons, neatly arranged in matching boxes and containing the caption: LONDON 1875, GEORGE ADAMS. Parker Museum had snatched up the antique silverware a year and a half ago, apparently finding them on eBay, to the absolute horror of every proper spoon museum in the state. If Ben recalled correctly and the gossip of the historical community was reliable, there had been death threats.

Ben is about halfway through this explanation when a car door slams - still muffled - and dull thuds drift through the receiver, almost as though Riley were trying to manoeuvre himself into a different position while in a very constricted space. 

"Riley," Ben says. "You're in the trunk of a car, aren't you."

The thudding stops. 

"Maybe."

"How did that happen?" Ben demands. "Wait, back up," he adds before Riley can answer, "are you all right?" 

"My neck's a little cramped."

Abigail sighs. "We'll come get you."

"I appreciate that, Abby, thank you, but I actually just need to know about the spoons right now. The spoons will make everything better."

Ben and Abigail exchange glances, and finish telling Riley about the spoons, who thanks them, claims to be the secret spawn of Houdini, and hangs up.

They have a lovely supper. Abigail goes to take a shower, and the phone rings.

"Okay," says Riley, sounding in equal parts pleased and very uncomfortable over the phone. "Now you can come get me. Bring some guns with you, please." 

Ben chooses to ignore that last part. "Where are you?" 

Riley is across from the Parker Museum, in the parking lot of A&W. Yes, in his car. Yes, still. He'd already texted the coordinates to Abigail's cell phone and could they please hurry? Click. 

Abigail wanders into the room, hair still damp from her shower and holding her cell phone. "I just got a message from Riley," she says. Ben holds up the landline phone in response. "Let's take your car."

The sky is overcast, a collage of dark and light grey looking as though it is seriously considering the idea of hosting a second round of downpour like the one this morning. It is also 5:07 PM, there has been some sort of accident on the overpass, and traffic congestion is insane. 

"We need to get off the main roads," Abigail says. 

"Yes," Ben agrees. If they can bypass these next two main freeways without accidentally getting dragged down into maze-like side streets, then- 

"No, Ben, I think we need to get off the main road." She's tapping his arm. He squints out the window into a sea of impatient vehicles and their drivers, lights reflecting off the wet pavement in a faint, red glow. There is a white van two cars behind them and the next lane over, the edges of its outline blurring into the dreary sky. Movement inside catches his eye; more intensive squinting reveals two dark figures in the window. 

"Maybe they're not our mercenaries," Ben suggests. An automatic rifle flashes into view and then out again, apparently being shuffled from Dark Figure One's lap to a more subtle location. Ben watches as the same guy rummages around in the glove compartment, eventually producing what looks a lot like a wooden box and a little camera. He opens its lid to reveal shining silver, and begins snapping pictures. 

The van has its signal light on, trying to move into the same exit lane they are in. 

"Spoons," Abigail says. 

These are indeed _their_ mercenaries. He and Abigail need to beat them to the Parker Museum. 

Traffic creeps forward.

Abigail consults a map on her cell phone. (Ben is intrigued; he was not aware one could keep maps on one's cell phone, and Abigail promises to introduce him to the wonders of Google Mobile when they get back.) 

"The lane we're in only lets us exit 1.5 miles ahead," she tells him. The 1.5 miles between them and their exit is packed solid with metal and rubber, and results in about an hour of the slowest car chase in history.

"This is ridiculous," Abigail says. "I know this isn't the vacation you were hoping for," she says after a while. "This isn't exactly taking a break from the world."

"Not what I was hoping for? What, stuck in a small space with you for an extended period of time while the adrenaline's pumping?" 

There is a pause.

"Ben, we should really concentrate," Abigail says, unconvincingly.

Once they (finally, _finally_ ) reach their exit, traffic is much improved. Even the few vehicles behind them that the van is allows Ben to put a decent amount of distance between them. Riley's car is the only one in A&W's parking lot. Ben dials his number.

"Oh thank goodness," Riley says into Ben's ear. While Abigail digs around her purse for Riley's spare key, Ben's gaze drifts across the street. It's been a few years since he's been to the Parker Museum; maybe some displays have been improved... 

"Oh my God," Riley says, having apparently been talking at an unresponsive Ben the whole time, and audible even without the phone. "This- you-" 

"We'll get you out, Riley," Abigail calls.

"You're thinking about _history_!" Riley accuses.

"I always think about history!"

They bicker good-naturedly until Abigail throws open the trunk and helps Ben unfold Riley, who assures them that if they could please drop him off at home, everything will be fine.

They don't hear from him again until their fifth-to-last day of freedom.

"OH MY GOD," Riley shouts, and the kitchen door slams shut. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DIDN'T LOCK YOUR DOORS BEFORE YOU - GAH."

Abigail and Ben look at each other. "He was your friend first," she says. "I think you get to deal with the aftermath."

Ben groans and retrieves his pants from the cool, tile floor. "Yes, I'll talk to him. Just - um, wait here?" He blinks hopefully at her. "We can ... pick up where we left off." He slips on a button-down (draped over the light fixture), puts on his pants, and pads out the door. "Riley ...?"

"I _love_ vacations," Abigail declares, flopping back down on the kitchen table.

"It's another code," Ben tells her, later. "I wasn't sure whether you wanted to -"

"Give it," Abigail demands. "The last one was fun." 

 


End file.
